


Revenge

by ChillinbytheFire



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillinbytheFire/pseuds/ChillinbytheFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor's wife sees her husband for first time in centuries. What are her intentions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in the spur of the moment. Not sure where this came from, but...  
> Let me know what you think. Concrit always welcome!

The guards had allowed Soloriel entrance to her husband's tent without question, simply informing her that he was expected back shortly. Almost immediately after stepping through the heavy flaps, she noticed a wooden chair with a comfortable-looking cushion upon it, standing next to a simple table. Soloriel decided to sit there.

She was exhausted, nightmares having stolen her rest ever since arriving in this land of terror and danger. How Soloriel longed to be back in Valinor! Yet returning was not an option at the present moment. Also, she had made a decision that she could not risk regretting.

As her eyes started closing of their own volition, there came the sound of footsteps outside the tent, then the rustle of fabric. She felt the elf looking intently at her sleepy form seated on the chair. Makalaurë.

"What do you want?"

His voice was much gruffer than in the days when Soloriel had heard it most. Her guess was that it was used more often in giving orders to soldiers than singing ballads now. The thought broke her heart that much more.

"I came to speak with my husband. Is that permitted, my lord?" Soloriel purposefully coated her words in sarcasm.

"I do not care for your tone of voice!" He snapped. Then, more softly, he added, "can't we at least be civil to each other."

"Let us start over then. Tell me, why?”

The question needed no further explanation. Makalaurë understood exactly what his wife was asking. Centuries of introspection had left him somewhat of an expert in explaining why Fëanáro and his followers had left Valinor, then slayed other elves on three separate occasions—and why he himself had been one of those followers. He gave her the answer to that question.

* * *

Soloriel lowered her eyes, not being able to look at her husband. Why did he have to do this? Turn her whole world upside down? Before she’d come to his tent, everything was clear in her mind: Makalaurë had followed his father on a foolish, selfish quest. He, along with the others, had willingly exiled himself and turned away from the Valar. In the process, he had left her despite her love for him, despite Soloriel being the one in possession of reason.

Now he was telling her a different story, one she didn’t want to believe but had to, if only for the fact of his honesty being too obvious to ignore. It was a story of tragedy and of loss, of deception and the loss of innocence. Hearing it from his lips made her heart break. Her own role in the story only did her in further—a heartless companion who couldn’t be bothered to leave her home and remain with her husband, alleviating his pain.

_Makalaurë, you bastard. You chose that path yourself._

As she looked at his tears, she felt her own starting to well and blur her vision. One escaped down her cheek as she resolved not to leave until his tears dried—a far cry from the original intent of her visit. She suddenly had the need to see Makalaurë smile, as he had in the light of the trees.

“Do you remember Telperion and Laurelin?” she asked gently.

“I see it in my dreams. _Every single_ night,” Makalaurë whispered, sounding choked.

“Do you miss it?”

“I miss you.” Makalaurë told her, now sounding more like himself. Then, without preamble, he picked Soloriel up and lay her down gently upon his small bed.

“You’re the only light left in a world of darkness. You are brighter to me than the sun and the moon.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but Soloriel pushed him away and leapt off of the bed.

“I won’t let you do something I know you’ll regret.”

Makalaurë sat on the edge of his bed, looking dejectedly at his hands.

“I thought we would be together again,” he said, “I thought that you have forgiven me, that you had come back to stay.”

Soloriel had never considered that Makalaurë would want her to stay, and especially not that he wanted forgiveness. She had fully expected him to hold a grudge against her even to this day. After all, Makalaurë’s final words to her before they had parted expressed his horror at her “betrayal.”

Those words came back to haunt her often—too often!

Feeling herself turn red from anger she turned, stabbing a finger at Makalaurë’s chest in accusation.

“You expect my forgiveness after what you said to me? Do you even remember what it was? They were such hurtful words, Makalaurë— “

He touched her arm in a gesture of comfort, “I’m so— “

“No! Hear me out before you decide to interrupt,” Soloriel said, jerking away viciously from his touch.

“It changed me, what you said. You insulted me, my family, and you doubted my love for you—all because I was the one with any remaining sense. You abandoned me for some jewels!”

Her tears flowed freely now. For a while there were only the sounds of her crying. Finally, Makalaurë spoke.

“I never even realized how awful I was to you when we left. Now I am here expecting forgiveness without first apologizing. I’m sorry; sorry for all the pain I have caused you. There is no excuse for how I behaved.”

“No excuse,” Soloriel said, “but reasons, yes. It was those jewels, coupled with your father’s influence.”

Her husband nodded in silent assent. Soloriel again took her seat on the chair. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Soloriel stopped crying; she had decided a long time ago that pain from the past had to be buried. It did no one any good to dwell upon it.

“It was foolish of me to think that we could be together again after those words I said before I left,” she heard Makalaurë say in a soft voice.

“I told you you’d regret trying to reconcile with me. Too much damage has been done.”

“Maybe this time our parting can be more…cordial,” then he looked at her and cocked his head in curiosity, “Why _did_ you come here, though?”

For a long moment, she was silent, paralyzed by fear and shame. But Soloriel had never lied before, and she had no intention of starting now. Slowly, she pulled out a dagger she had concealed within her cloak.

He gasped when he saw it, sitting up immediately.

“It wasn’t just you who felt betrayed. When I learned the Valar were assembling a host to Éndorë, I tried to forget my pain and anger, but I was unsuccessful.”

She swallowed, looking at him to gauge his reaction; fearing he would try to take the knife and kill her to protect himself. Makalaurë did no such thing though; he remained as pale and still as a statue.

She continued, “I knew this would be my only chance for revenge, and your actions at Alqualondë inspired me… but I can’t do it,” she hung her head in weariness.

“It would be a relief,” Makalaurë said hoarsely; he sounded on the verge of breaking down. “Even the void must be better than this,” he gestured vaguely around them.

“You don’t want me to be a kinslayer, do you?”

“Of course not,” he answered without hesitation, “I could never ask that of anyone.”

Not responding, Soloriel got up slowly, making to leave. She never heard Makalaurë get up and approach her, but she did feel his strong arms wrap around her in an embrace. This time she didn’t pull away. The hug was a beloved relic of the beautiful past they had once shared.


End file.
